


Vicodin Ain't Strong Enough

by kissmebloody



Series: Wincestmas Secret Santa 2015 [5]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Foul Language, M/M, allusions to cheating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-19
Updated: 2016-01-19
Packaged: 2018-05-14 23:20:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5762866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kissmebloody/pseuds/kissmebloody
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>We've all got our demons. Sam's just held on to his a long, long time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Vicodin Ain't Strong Enough

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DeansDevilishAngel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeansDevilishAngel/gifts).



> Coda to 2x04 Children Shouldn't Play With Dead Things

 

All Sam had wanted from Greenville Cemetery was to bury their dad’s dog tags with their mom. Well, the memory of her, at least. Sam, for the life of him, can never remember if there was actually something left to bury or not. All he is sure about is that there is a grave with a headstone, and those dog tags needed to be there in the ground with her memory.

Angela Mason hadn’t been on the list of things to deal with until Dean dogged him about her death.

A lot of the hunt brought up memories Sam never wanted to think about. Even nightmares he’d had before leaving for Stanford, and then even after. And now, here, sitting in the back seat of the Impala with his legs hung out the door and Dean checking his rapidly swelling wrist, he realizes those worries were all unfounded, and it was just his own lack of self-confidence making him think stupid things.

“Was this seriously just from her tackling you to the ground? A girl half your height broke your damn wrist?” Dean whispers, the early morning light bringing a light haze of a fog. They hadn’t cleaned everything up yet—Dean didn’t want Sam to end up with some kind of infection because they waited too long to get him checked out by an actual doctor. Dislocated shoulders were one thing—those were easy to put back in place no problem. But bones? Bones were completely internal, and breaking them wasn’t something a pull of whiskey and a shitty count to three could help.

“Dude _yes_ okay? She was brought back from the dead; the supernatural always get weird powers and shit— _ow!”_ Sam hissed at the pressure being put on his wrist.

“Oh shove it. You’ve had worse.” Dean took the flashlight from his pocket and shined it over the joint, burst blood vessels colouring the bloated skin.

“Yeah, I’ve had worse when I busted my knee at 16. Haven’t exactly broken a bone since then.” Sam grumbled. “You’re a damn worry wort, you know? We just gotta cast this up and I’ll be fi—iiiahhn.” He grit his teeth and whined. “You did that on _purpose.”_ The words came out high pitched and childish.

“To prove you won’t be ‘fine’, jackass. Bustin’ your knee from trippin’ in a ditch doesn’t really prepare you for breakin’ your fuckin’ wrist. This bitch is swollen and it’s already like a ping pong ball leeched itself to your wrist.” Dean had this look on his face: lips pursed and eyebrows together, like he was operating on a time bomb.

“Dean, I’ll be okay. This stuff happens all the time. Just a splint for a month or so and I’ll be fine.” He hated worrying Dean like this.

“Not gonna happen.” He lay Sam’s arm back over his lip, being ginger with his wrist so as not to jostle it too much. “We’re gonna head to the hospital two towns over once I get everything back in the trunk.” Dean disappeared behind the open hatch and reappeared with one of their crack-n-go ice packs. “Keep your wrist up and put this on it. We need to keep the swelling down so there’s less risk of some kind of infection or—god forbid—the bone moving too far out of place. It doesn’t feel like a fracture, I think that thing is actually detached.”

Sam pressed around his wrist and felt a bit of movement. He stuck his tongue out and grabbed the ice pack in hopes of forgetting he ever felt it. “Okay, yeah. Hospital.” He felt a little queasy thinking about it.

“See? Something I actually know what’s best. Big brother instincts and all that.” Dean was rummaging in the trunk now, making room for the shovels and everything extra. All the candles would probably be put in a shoe box and forgotten about until they needed them again, but everything else had their own place in the trunk or in the back seat.

“Big brother instincts my ass.” Sam grumbled, holding his wrist and the ice pack up to his face so he could use some of the cool gel on his forehead.

Dean made a grunting noise from the back and poked his head around to look at Sam. “Hey! They just saved your ass, thank you very much. I expect a little appreciation.”

“Sorry, but I don’t think I can give you a hand job very well with my leechy ping pong ball wrist.” Sam shot back.

“No, but soon as we get a cast and an okay to get back on the road, your mouth’ll still be workin’ fine. I expect full compensation for saving you.”

“Greedy.”

“Damn right.”

There was silence after that, comfortable but full of things left unsaid.

When Dean was back in the driver’s seat, and Sam in the passenger’s, the Impala roared to life and they were set off down the highway. Sam stared out the window for maybe five minutes before Dean spoke up.

“What was with you getting’ cold feet when Angela’s roommate talked about the affair?”

Sam turned from the window to Dean, his face coldly neutral with the sun glaring from the window over his freckles.

“It wasn’t cold feet.”

“Well it was definitely some kinda hesitation. Sammy you can’t go AWOL every time someone says something you don’t like.” Dean’s gripping the steering wheel like any other day, easy and free. His voice though…

Sam bit the inside of his cheek, wondering how to approach it. “It wasn’t…it wasn’t just something I didn’t like. It hit a big nerve, that’s all.”

“Sam, you can talk to me about this stuff. Especially now.” Dean turns his head to catch Sam’s eyes, green almost as matte as sea glass.

He felt bad, never telling Dean about it. “It’s really nothing. Just selfish stuff since this started.” He would have waved one hand, gesturing towards the open air between them, but, well, broken wrist.

Dean flicked his eyes to Sam with a raised eyebrow. “This?”

“Us.” Sam clarified.

“You think about us having affairs?”

“Mainly you, really.” Sam murmured, ashamed of it.

There was a jolt where Dean hit the brakes and came off of them, the engine gunning back to the regular ten miles over the speed limit.

“Dude, what have I ever done to make you think I’d cheat on you?”

“Well, you’re a _massive_ flirt, for one.” Sam threw out easily. It was a joke they’d always had between them, how Dean would end up in some girl’s pocket, but always came back to Sam at the end of the night without lipstick on his collar.

“That’s never bothered you before!”

“It’s _always_ bothered me, Dean. I just never said anything because that’s who you _are._ How am I supposed to tell you to stop something that’s in your nature, that helps us keep a roof over our heads? I’m not gonna tell you to change just because of my insecurities.” Sam wanted to wring his wrists so much, wanted to keep the itching under his skin at bay.

“I’d _never_ do that to you, Sammy. You’ve got to know that.”

“I _do._ It’s just...you’ve always been attractive; you could have anyone else over me. How was I _not_ supposed to think you might want that someone else?” Sam felt like a 16 year-old again, a busted knee in a wheel chair watching Dean flirt with the nurse to get them in quicker.

“Sam…”

“I know it’s stupid, I know that you’ve never cheated on me; and I’m so grateful for it. I just—“

“Sam I love you.”

Sam’s breath caught in his lungs. He felt like his head could explode from the bubble forming in his throat cutting off his airflow.

“I have always loved you.” They hadn’t said it since the night Dean dropped him at a Greyhound station in the middle of Kentucky. “I’m not gonna go bed some floozy just because I’m upset, or I’m tired of you—which I am not, I won’t ever be. I know that I’ve been shitty since Dad died, I know I could have done better, but you know me better than that. My coping mechanisms are kinda fucked all to hell, and I usually drown myself in booze.” He took a breath. “I’m bad at all this relationship stuff, I can’t give you a ring, or anything like that legal bullshit to tell you I’m gonna be monogamous forever. But you gotta know that I love you, you stupid tree. And that I will always, _always,_ be only yours.”

He didn’t know if he could cry anymore than he had in the last month, but Sam was sure he wanted to.

“I’m not a stupid tree.”

“You are, and I still love you for it.”

“Love you too, Jerk.”

“Bitch.”


End file.
